The Making of a Crib
by Karissa M
Summary: Tonks tries to make a crib. Remus tries to make her see sense. A one shot written on a prize request for Luna del Cielo.


**Disclaimer: I don't own Remus or Tonks, nor do I own any of J.K. Rowlings lovely plots, idea, places, or people. And I don't make any profit.**

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All was apparently quiet outside of the Residence of Theodore and Andromeda Tonks. Mrs. Tonks herself was sitting at the kitchen table, flipping through the latest copy of The Quibbler and looking a bit pained. Down the hallway, at the far side of the house, a banging sound and arguing could be heard from a small room.

Inside, a man with graying hair and far too many lines in his face was trying to take a hammer from a woman with messy turquoise hair that was pulled up into a bun, and an exceedingly preganant belly.

"Look, Dora, let me help. You're never going to-"

"No, I can do it! This is fun Rem! This is Mum-stuff. I can put a crib together."

"… no. You can't. Look- you're going to break it if you're not careful." Remus Lupin argued, once again making a dive to snatch the hammer away from his wife. His hands closed around thin air.

Nymphadora Tonks laughed and stuck out her tongue, continuing to bring the hammer down on a ridiculously bent nail, clearly far beyond any actual use. "Positive attitude, Remus. Chin up, all of that rot."

He cursed, groaned, and made another vain attempt at grabbing the hammer. She easily moved out of the way of his half-hearted snatch. "Dora- it would be so much easier if you just _used magic_." His voice was imploring, and he sounded exhausted. "We'd be _done_ already."

"This is _character building._ We're nesting. It makes the baby more real, even though it's not born yet. I read about it in a book." Dora told him cheerfully, hammering aimlessly on the already beaten wood.

What she'd created couldn't even rightfully be called a crib. It was more of a… mess of battered wood and nails piled and pounded together in a mess that vaguely resembled a cradle of some sort. Well- either that or a cage for a bunny rabbit. "I don't think there's any pretending otherwise- unless that mass under your shirt it actually a pillow or a quaffle or something."

Despite being over seven months pregnant, almost eight, she refused to wear maternity clothing- choosing instead to resort to the biggest t-shirts she could find and hardly ever wearing trousers. If company came, she pulled on the baggiest pair of sweats she could find. Remus had tried numerous times to convince her of how ridiculous she was being but the answer he got was always the same; 'Honestly, Remus- Why does it matter? I'll look like a whale either way. I can look like a frilly pink whale, or a cool whale. I go for cool.' At which point he'd be forced to try and convince her that she did _not_ look like a whale, which was a vain attempt.

She was rather large.

She gave a soft 'oof', and smoothed the hand not holding the hammer over his swelled stomach. "More like a bludger, the way this little bugger kicks around. Wotcher you." She told her tummy, smiling down at it fondly.

It was moments like this that made all the hell-days seem insignificant. That made him over-whelming grateful to Harry for talking to him so harshly. Watching her smile like that, and reaching out to also feel the vigorous kicking of their baby against the inside of her stomach, deluded him into remembering even the day she'd threw a vase at his head fondly.

She had dropped the hammer, and placed the now-free hand over his, tilting her head to the side and looking at him now, soft brown eyes searching his face. "That crib isn't going to cut it, is it?" She asked, chewing on her bottom lip.

Remus sighed, and gave his eyes a roll, "If you use magic to fix it I won't tell your mother."

She leaned up on her tip-toes and pressed a kiss to his cheek, "Oh, Mr. Lupin. You always know exactly what to say."

He frowned a little, and those old doubts flashed across his mind. He was too old. She deserved someone better. He couldn't provide for her- or the child. What if it was like him? What if it hated him? Would he be a good parent at all? How did one go about being a parent anyway? It was such a foreign concept.

And making a crib felt so... final. Tonks was right. It made things seem more real. Even if the mess of wood and nails didn't really look like a crib.

There was a light pressure on his cheek, a soft hand tilting his face up again. Dora was smiling, "You'll be a great father, Remus. We'll be great parents. Don't worry."

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**Hey guys. Um- I did this oneshot as a request from Luna del Cielo, because she was the 150th reviewer on my story Operation: Black . She requested a Remus/somebody, with a preference to Tonks. SOOOO, this is that brainchild. And I hope so very much that she likes it. **

**Karissa M.**


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